


Candlelight

by piakichu



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piakichu/pseuds/piakichu
Summary: Aziraphale has a nightmare.  Crowley climbs through a window into a kitchen.  They both drink tea and there's also a candle in here somewhere.  Written for Good Omens Love Day on tumblr!CW for struggling to process nightmaresI'd love to hear from you if you have any constructive feedback for me!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Candlelight

_It’s so cold here. So cold, and so bright. No dust on the shelves, not a book out of place. The wine is gone, and the sterilized crystal glasses refract that brilliant light in a neat and orderly pattern on the floor. The room smells floral, like Spring without dirt. It is nearly silent, aside from a persistent, quiet hum. There is no one here but me._

_I’ve got to get out of here. So cold, and so bright…_

_I hear knocking behind me. I turn to see a dark, imposing figure. And the image shatters, shatters like—_

Aziraphale lurched forward and sat up, clutching his chest. His clammy hand rose and fell with each panting breath. As his senses returned to him, he became aware of the rapid pounding of his heart. The hair on his arms stood straight up, and he began to look for his blankets. He had apparently kicked them off in his sleep. He got out of bed, teeth chattering, and walked across the creaky wood floor to his closet. He grabbed the nearest sweater and threw it on over his flannel pajamas. 

“Well, that was quite a fuss I just made now, wasn’t it?” the angel said to himself. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to just go back to sleep. I never seem to be able to—not after that dream, anyway. Some lavender and chamomile tea might be in order; and perhaps I will bake some scones as preparation for breakfast tomorrow. That will be productive, at least.” With that comforting thought in mind, Aziraphale put on his house slippers and walked out of the room. 

The hallway was dark, but he knew every step of the walk down the spiral staircase and into the kitchen. He had told himself when he first began waking at night that he was simply saving money on the inevitable monthly electric bill by not turning on the lights. “Gabriel is always talking about the virtue of living a frugal life,” he had mused, “and cutting back on my electricity usage is also good for the environment! It would practically be against my angelic nature to use the lights for something as frivolous as going downstairs at night.” Besides, Aziraphale much preferred natural sunlight or moonlight to the harsh glow of an electric bulb. When lightbulbs weren’t busy being expensive or broken, they were simply too bright. 

Upon appearing in the kitchen, the angel made his way to the windowsill above his sink. The soft brush of a match against the box was followed by the ignition of a small flame and a quick puff of smoke. He lit each of the three wicks carefully, then set the candle back on the windowsill. He inhaled to catch the scent of firewood and whiskey emanating from the melting wax. The label appeared to be scratched off, along with the price tag. When this one ran out, he would have no idea where to buy another one. He would never have picked this out for himself, but since it was a gift he had felt obligated to use it. With time, though, he warmed up to it. This candle was his kitchen companion now, and the scent was comforting. 

Aziraphale bustled around the kitchen, filling the kettle and gathering ingredients for baking. The soft light of the candle cast shadows on the floor, highlighting the piles of books and odd antiques scattered around the area. It was a tight squeeze, but it was cozy. It was home. The broken shutter on the window behind him blew back and forth in the wind, producing the occasional bang. The angel searched through his cabinets to find his favorite teacup, a lovely porcelain from mid-19th century France. He did not have a complete set, but he figured that two cups and two saucers are better than no cups and no saucers. One person really only needs one cup at a time, anyway. He placed the teacup gently on the edge of the counter as he reached for the whistling kettle. 

From behind him, Aziraphale heard a loud bang. He froze, hand outstretched in the direction of the kettle. He started to glance over his shoulder but stopped himself. “It’s only that broken shutter,” he muttered under his breath. “No sense in freaking out.” 

Then he heard knocking. His pulse began to quicken. He spun around to face the window. 

Before he could make sense of the shadowy figure on the other side, he heard a loud shatter from right beside him. The angel let out a terrified scream. The window, apparently unlatched, began to open. A familiar voice called out from the other side. 

“Hey, d’you mind if I come in? It’s getting pretty chilly waiting outside for you to notice me. Also, you really shouldn’t leave your windows unlocked at night, Angel. It’s a miracle you haven’t been robbed!” 

Aziraphale sighed in relief. Thank the Heavens, it was only a demon. 

“Yes, yes, do come in. You gave me quite a scare there, Crowley, dear. Goodness gracious me!” 

The demon awkwardly attempted to climb in through the window, putting one leg inside only to find he could not fit his upper body between the confines of the frame. Next, he tried to use the top of the window frame as a handhold to put both of his feet in, bending over backwards to slide under the glass, only to fall on his head on the outside. Finally, he put his head and arms through the window and pushed forcefully off the ground, successfully sliding into the window and onto the floor. He stood up, brushed the dust off his black jeans, and was greeted with the face of a bemused angel. 

“First try.” 

Aziraphale began to laugh and rushed forward to embrace Crowley. As they hugged, his chuckling threatened to become sobs. He wiped a quick tear from his eye and let go, immediately straightening his hair and sweater. The demon’s expression softened, his amber eyes gazing warmly at the angel’s fussing. 

“Did I scare you that badly, Angel? Or was the minor window miscalculation so sad that it made you cry?” 

“I just, well, it’s rather late at night, you know, so I’m a bit on edge.” 

“What are you even doing awake, then?” Crowley asked. 

“I think a better question would be ‘What are you doing at my kitchen window when I’m supposed to be asleep?’” Aziraphale grumbled. 

“It came to me in a dream.” 

Crowley stepped forward to ruffle the angel’s white hair. _Crunch_. He examined the bottom of his snakeskin shoe to find powdered porcelain on the sole. He bent down to pick up one of the larger shards. 

“Oh, Zira… this is your teacup. You really liked this one.” 

“Oh yes, I suppose it is. I had almost forgotten about it.” 

“Did I make you knock it over?” 

“I put it too close to the edge and got startled, that’s all. It honestly could have been anything. I’m a bit underslept and on edge, you know. I probably would have knocked it over for one reason or another, or maybe even dropped it. I’m glad it was you.” 

Crowley folded his hands and pressed his fingertips against his lips, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and blew on the shard in his grasp. Miraculously, the shattered pieces on the floor began to spiral upward towards his hands, and the teacup regained its former shape. It glittered softly in the candlelight. 

“I appreciate it, Crowley, but you can’t just be doing miracles for me for no reason!” 

“Oh, this? It isn’t a miracle. I mended the cracks with silver, look! Now you can sell this for money. It’s all part of my evil plan to corrupt you with greed, you see. So, it’s actually a temptation.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works, dear.” 

“Sure it is! Definitely was last time I checked.” 

“And when was the last time you checked the rules?” 

“I’m a demon, Zira. I don’t check the rules.” 

The two quietly laughed, and Aziraphale moved to grab the kettle. 

“Would you like some tea, now that you’re here?” 

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll have some.” 

The two sat together at the kitchen table, sipping tea. The aroma of lavender and chamomile mingled with the scents of wood and musk from the candle on the windowsill. Reluctant to break the intimacy of silence, they simply sat together and basked in the moment. 

A sudden gust of wind from the still-open far window blew out the candle. Crowley let out a quiet shriek. Aziraphale moved to shut the window, then walked calmly to the kitchen sink. He struck a match, lit the candle, and set it back on the sill. When he turned around, the demon had his hand over his heart, clutching his chest. 

“What’s wrong, Crowley dear?” 

The demon swallowed hard, trying to speak. He could not get the words out. Aziraphale walked over to his side and offered his hand. Crowley reached out to take it. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk. We can just stay here like this for a bit.” 

Crowley’s eyes were staring into the distance, as though he were in another place. His hurried breaths reminded Aziraphale of why he was awake in the kitchen in the first place. 

“You know, this is why I was awake, actually. I had a dream. A horrible dream. When I woke up, I was just like this. That’s part of why I was so afraid when you came to my window. I heard a knock behind me, and then shattering. I thought it was glass; in the dream, I mean. Your wine glasses, over in the shop. It was terrible. Is something like that what’s happening to you?” 

“Yeah.” The demon’s voice was coming back. He took a deep breath, and then continued, “In my dream, it was dark. So very dark. I dream about that, from time to time. It’s dark and the walls are closing in. I’m all alone. It smells like death. It’s loud, so loud, just all the time. And so hot, it would melt your flesh off.” 

“This time, during that dream, I saw a window. And on the other side, I saw a flash of light. It was so bright, I shouldn’t have been able to look at it. Around it, there was a halo of soft, warm light. I ran to the window and started knocking—and then I woke up. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t want to talk about it. But the window looked familiar, and then I remembered where I had seen it. I didn’t think you’d be up. I just wanted to come investigate, try and figure out why the dream was different this time…” 

Aziraphale drew the back of Crowley’s hand up to his lips and gently kissed it. 

“I understand. At the end of my dream, I saw a tall figure behind me that I couldn’t quite make out, right before I heard the shattering. As I said before, dear, I’m so glad it was you.” 

From outside, the pair heard a clock tower chime. _Bong, bong, bong, bong_. 

“I guess it’s 4 in the morning already. Are you tired, Angel? You look like you could use some sleep.” 

“You look quite sleepy as well, Crowley. I…” 

“What is it? Do you want me to leave?” 

“No! Well, you can if you need to, I would understand that. I just, if you wanted to stay, I know I only have the one bed but—” 

“I don’t want to go home and sleep in the dark.” 

“I don’t want to turn the lights on in the hallway to go back upstairs.” 

Crowley stood up and put his hand on the back of his neck. 

“We could always take the candle upstairs. I don’t think it’s bright enough to interrupt your sleep.” 

“And probably bright enough to illuminate your surroundings.” 

Aziraphale grabbed the candle and the matchbox. He decided to clean the baking supplies up later. He gestured towards the stairs, and the two began to walk towards bed. 

“Do you know what’s funny, dear?” 

“What’s funny, Angel?” 

“I’m not supposed to be afraid of bright spaces.” 

“Well, I’m not supposed to dislike dark ones.” 

“Why do you think that is?” 

“I don’t know, honestly.” 

“But regardless, candlelight is better anyway.” 

“Oh definitely, it’s far the superior option.”


End file.
